Who I Am Hates What I've Been
by Anera527
Summary: Original film. Jed survives the night of attacking Calumet- now, he must find Erica and Danny, and perhaps the three of them can heal from the wounds of war. But is it really possible to leave the past behind? Rated T for adult situations, suicidal thinking, and dealings with PTSD.
1. Who I Am Hates What I've Been

_**Chapter 1: Who I Am Hates Who I've Been**_

A/N: This story has literally been in the works for about four years, ever since I first watched the original 'Red Dawn'. It will deal in a lot of angst, self-hatred, and posttraumatic stress disorder (but with the angst thing, when was the original film _not _angsty?) There are tons of spoilers in this story for the original film, so tread carefully if you haven't seen it yet.

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_~All my nightmares escape my head  
Bar the door, please don't let them in  
You were never supposed to leave  
Now my head's splitting at the seams  
And I don't know if I can~_

_-_"Welcome Home", Radical Face

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He knew the boy.

Of course he did. Ernesto Bella, a high-ranking commander in the Cuban army, had seen a lot of things in his life, and had met a lot of faces; most of which were enemies who were of no consequence and were therefore unworthy of his time other than the few seconds it took to kill them. Oh yes, how many faces he knew! Many, he remembered, had faced death fearfully, their eyes and posture revealing just how terrified they were facing his weapon. Some had even begged for life, as incredible as that sounded. Bella had scorned them for it. Didn't the cowards know that it was better to die proudly, without all the fear and crying they had always pleaded with? Not one had faced him as a human being should.

Not one, that is, until he had faced the boy only the night before. And that was simply incredible to him. The boy had faced Bella without flinching and—well, perhaps not proudly—but resolutely. He could easily remember the stark look on the boy's face, the challenging look to the eyes that told him to finish it. He had seen that lifeless look many a time before, worn by hard-bitten veterans who were burned out and unable to enjoy life. Never, however, had he seen that expression on the face of one so young.

Bella did not quite understand why he had let the boy live. This was war, after all. The United States had to be overtaken, the Soviet forces would take control—it was destiny, the Divine's promise. The USSR would not fail, it was too powerful.

Deep down, he understood that he had let the boy live because he was simply tired of killing. And seeing such a young lad standing before him, facing him like a man in the drifting snow, holding a fallen comrade in his arms, made Bella come to realize that in the space of an instant that he would not be able to kill him. Had he sunk to such a level that he would murder a child in cold blood?

Of course, he had known even then that the boy was not innocent, and was in fact one of the reasons why he had lost so many men during the past few months. He had known that very night that the boy was part of the group called the "Wolverines". _Duty_ told him he should have killed the boy. _Compassion_ told him not to. Perhaps it had helped his decision by knowing that the boy would likely not survive the night anyway, just as his companion certainly would not.

It would seem, however, that Fate worked in mysterious ways. Even with the town of Calumet in complete and utter chaos from the Wolverines' attack, a group of men had been sent out to look for anything—or anyone—out of place. And they had found the two boys Bella had seen earlier. One of them, the younger, had already died, a bullet to the chest clearly the reason. The other, the brave one, had been also injured but was not yet dead, though it had been a close call as doctors worked on him.

Now the boy was lying on a cold cot in the makeshift hospital for prisoners. Each bed, of which only a few were occupied, were sanctioned off into separate sections—cells, in other words—with the doors locked. Doctors were the only ones who had the keys for the individual locks, and the prisoners were often isolated while their healing wounds were inspected. The boy had not yet woken from the surgery that had saved his life.

And there was another mystery Bella had to contemplate now—why had he decided to come here in the first place?

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The first thing Jed was aware of when he woke up was the aching pain that seemed to pound through his whole body. He found it hard to believe that the human body could feel pain to this degree. His skin felt hot and he could tell he was probably dehydrated if his dry mouth and throat were any signs. What had happened? The last thing he could remember was sitting on the bench of the park, holding Matt in his arms. He remembered oddly, too, how cold he'd been, how tired…

"_I don't want to be too cold…"_

Toni. Oh god, Toni. Her pain-riddled voice as she lay dying echoed in his memory, reminding him of the rest of those horrible months hiding in the mountains. Matt… Without conscious thought he tried to sit up and cursed softly when fire suddenly seemed to flare up his side and into his chest, leaving him breathless as he lay back down. Slowly it all came back to him, through the confusion and chaos of his mind; the time hiding in the mountains, the group of teens he had taken charge of, their time fighting back against the Russians and Cubans who had invaded their home. He remembered their deaths, one-by-one until it was only him, his brother Matt, and Erica, and Danny. He and Matt had decided to attack the Russians sown in the town of Calumet so that Danny and Erica could escape to Free America.

He smiled bitterly to himself. Matt had been shot be a Russian commander who had, moments later, died at Jed's own hands. That particular memory brought the nineteen-year-old no pleasure even knowing that his brother's killer was dead because Matt was dead. There was no use kidding himself about that, no use denying it; he had seen Matt shot, had seen even in his fear and hatred that his younger brother had been mortally wounded.

He wondered if he would feel grieved about that later. Now—well, now he felt nothing but a deep despair, an almost numb sensation that had settled over him. It was only then that he noticed his surroundings and the visitor standing there.

Motionless, Bella watched as the boy finally stirred. It took him a long moment to realize that the Cuban was standing there, but when he did there was no expression on the young face, conveying no interest whatsoever in Bella's appearance. He didn't seem daunted by the fact that he was clearly a prisoner. He watched as the boy shifted where he lay, grimacing slightly at the pain that came from moving.

"I see you are aware of where you are now," Bella said in English—it still felt odd to speak in such a language. "I trust you will be smart and not create… _disruptions_." There was little chance of that happening at the moment, Bella thought—the boy likely wouldn't have the strength to do anything strenuous for days.

The lad sneered at him, clearly showing his opinion of the man standing on the other side of the bars. Bella wondered if the boy recognized him. Probably not—he likely didn't even care. "And what happens when I do?" he retorted. "Will I be shot for disobeying?" There it was, that look that just challenged Bella to do something. Such spirit—it was a pity the boy was not interested in helping with the Communist cause.

Bella raised an eyebrow. "Do you think we would?"

His question caused the boy's eyes to darken. "I _know_ you would," he replied quietly, but his tone was ugly, conveying a deep wound not yet healed over. "My brother witnessed our father lined up with others and shot as if they were pigs for slaughter."

Ah. So that was the focus point for the boy's rage. A suspicion seized Bella, and he took a step closer, ignoring the way the boy tensed where he lay. "How long ago was that?"

"In October."

The hatred in the voice had not diminished, and Bella did not press for details, but in his mind he was making connections. October had been the same month the Wolverines had started their guerilla warfare. That made sense, Bella supposed—it was clear that the killing of the Communist soldiers had been for revenge. They had started it only days after the first mass shootings that had taken place on the plains outside of town. Bella realized from the timing that the boy's father had been shot at _his_ personal command. Realization gave way to something he had experienced little of in his life—shame. Being the trained soldier he was, however, Bella betrayed none of his thoughts or emotions, and instead crossed his arms.

"You are the leader of the Wolverines, are you not?"

The question took them both by surprise, Bella most of all, since he had nt meant to say it; but it was a question that needed to be asked. He knew virtually nothing about the actual group of ruffians who had been such a threat to the Communist cause—he didn't know if this boy was the leader or not, but decided that surprise could work to his advantage here.

The question certainly startled the boy. He blinked in surprise, then frowned, as if fighting with himself. Finally: "Yes. I am." And before Bella could ask the boy continued, his vice hardening. "But they're all dead, so you could say I _was_ the leader."

"All dead? Really?" Bella personally found that hard to believe; after all, before he died, Strelnikov had been sure there had been at least eight left… "How many of you were there?"

Jed glared hotly at the dark-haired stranger while all of his insides screamed to stop talking. He could easily feel the hate bubbling in his stomach, and he wanted to shut his mouth—but it seemed that now that he had actually already spoken his tongue wouldn't still. But it was painful to keep speaking about the group, it was difficult enough to keep the guilt from eating away at his sanity. It was really his fault that the others were dead, all except for Erica and Danny, and who knew? They could be dead, too, for all he knew. It was he who decided to keep fighting, it was he who had the chance to stop and didn't.

It was the stranger who looked away from their staring contest first. For a moment, Jed thought the man looked familiar somehow. It was a fleeting memory that reminded him, but he could not quite remember where he had seen this man—his mind was still too jumbled from the pain of his wound, the confusion of waking, and the dim light of the room to think clearly.

Curiosity, however, caused him to speak again. "When did you find me?"

Something was off about the tone the boy was speaking with, Bella thought—something that spoke of a grief not yet realized completely. "Last night, you and your comrade together," he responded.

"Brother."

Bella blinked. "Come again?"

Now the boy looked up at him again. "He was my brother, filth," he spat, "and he was shot in cold blood by a Russian who thought to kill me too."

Bella felt his own anger flare, burning away his shame and pity. How dare he be insulted like this, and by a mere child? "You attacked us, boy," he replied, trying to keep calm. "We were protecting ourselves—"

"_Protecting?"_ Jed couldn't help but feel his sense his fury and shock deepen. It gave him strength. "Is that what you call it?! _You_ attacked _us_! What in _hell_ gave you the right to come here and round us up like animals, to murder us, to shoot down helpless people? Who gave you the right to tell us how to live our lives?!"

Bella almost shook from his anger. Gone now was any pity for the boy, it was only a fleeting memory soon to be forgotten. Instead of violence, however, Bella merely settled for a threatening glower. "Watch your mouth, boy, or you'll meet the same end as you brother."

The boy's fce drained of color as if he had been slapped, and the look on his face was so bitter it nearly made Bella back away. "Go ahead," he heard him snarl. "Go ahead and kill me, then! That's all you are, anyway—a murderer!"

Jed watched the man's face and could tell he had hit a nerve when saying that. The stranger's mouth opened, gaping like a fish, then it snapped closed and he was hatefully glared at, until finally the man turned smartly and walked away. Jed watched him go, and somehow felt lonelier than ever.


	2. The Life We Lead Holds a Sadness

"_**Chapter2: The Life We Lead Holds A Sadness**_

Four days passed without incident and without Bella seeking out the boy again. He told himself that he had only gone that first time out of morbid curiosity and that there was no reason to do so again. But the boy's parting words worked on him and would not let him rest. So he went.

"Here, sir," the young soldier said calmly. "The prisoner was stable enough to be moved to one of the genuine cells here, so we wait to see what you will decide is best for the situation."

"Thank you," Bella said in Spanish. "Are you having any other trouble than what you've told me?"

The soldier shook his head. "No." He looked as if he was going to continue but then seemed to reconsider. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"Well, sir, usually we have a lot of problems with the prisoners. You know, the yelling, the protesting, the crying. Some even endanger themselves. But this one—he doesn't speak, doesn't do anything. He's refusing the food we're setting out. We are concerned that he is trying to starve himself to death."

Bella recognized the true meaning behind the words: they were simply afraid of losing a valuable prisoner. Giving the man a curt nod, he dismissed the young man and continued on his way.

The boy was seated cross-legged on the solitary bunk of the cell, gazing stoically at the opposite wall, a look of deep brooding on his face. He didn't move and Bella took his time moving closer, considering.

Although Bella had left in fury those few days ago, now it was more of an irritation at the boy's insults. But it was an irritation that was, again, mixed with shame. The boy's words had stayed with him, especially the ones that had accused him of being a murderer.

Was that really all he was? Did he really kill those who were defenseless? A part of him denied such thoughts readily, but his conscience, long-submerged by duty, told him differently. But how _could_ he be nothing but a killer? He was a loving husband, and a kind father to three children! How could he be a murderer if he loved? His conscience always replied that although he loved his family he still spilled innocent blood. And how could that _not_ be considered murder?

It left him feeling cold inside. After all he had done, after the life he had lived, after all the wars he had fought in, this war was forcing him to doubt all what he believed in.

Damn the boy. Bella knew the instant that he had let him go that he himself had somehow fundamentally changed in ways he had yet to understand. Mercy had spoken aloud when he spared the boy's life and now it would not stop whispering to him, telling him to stop the killing. Ignoring the voice of mercy was futile now.

Jed came out of his thoughts when he heard the sounds of footsteps outside the prison cell. Looking up he saw it was the stranger who had come and talked with him before. He didn't move.

"I make it my business to know what prisoners are doing, boy," the man finally said. "What would my commanders think if they heard one wasn't cooperating?"

Jed stiffened. "And does it make your business when someone refuses?" he retorted. "You may believe you're God, but you aren't."

Surprisingly, the man did not rise to the bait with that—he instead replied in a completely different way. "And you are not either, boy, which means you cannot sustain yourself without food and drink."

Bella watched the boy's face close off again, his blue eyes flat. "I guess that all depends on whether you want to live or not."

_Now_ Bella felt irritated. "This will solve nothing. Either you will eat voluntarily or you will be forced to."

Jed laughed now, a laugh that was biting and bitter. "You really must think you're God. It's not up to you to decide who lives and who dies. I'm not even that important anyway."

"On the contrary, you are. You are the leader of the Wolverines. You led the attacks that killed so many. You know the surrounding land, and you know how to survive here."

That_ did_ surprise Jed. He cursed himself for showing his surprise but there was no stopping the way he straightened and frowned. He considered retorting that he wouldn't help the ones who killed everything he had loved, but couldn't summon the energy. He did nothing ultimately but snort quietly, looking entirely indifferent.

Bella cocked his head. "What is your name?" The boy simply frowned at him again, thrown by the random question.

It was silent for a long moment with the two of them simply looking at one another, then finally the boy sighed and gave in. "Jed Eckert."

Bella's chin rose. "I am Colonel Ernesto Bella."

The boy—Jed Eckert—raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous, isn't it, telling the enemy your name?"

"And yet you have told me yours."

Jed shrugged. "I have nothing left to lose, Colonel. My family is dead, my home destroyed… And I really doubt that there's much hope in a life spent _here_, if I live that long."

'Which you doubt.' Bella did not voice his opinion aloud, yet he couldn't help but think it. It was probably true—prisoners rarely lived long in places such as these, especially the high-spirited ones.

He did something then that he did only around his own children: he softened his tone. "So why won't you eat?"

Jed looked back at him. "Maybe because I'm not hungry." It was a heavily sarcastic retort, but when he saw Bella made no move to show if he was irritated by the response, he decided to answer truthfully. What did he have to lose, anyway? "Colonel Bella, I am nineteen years old and I've seen more things in my life than most people my age should see. I've killed men and not given a second's thought about it, just as I've seen my friends and family gunned down in front of me. After all that, you begin to wonder what makes life worth living."

Bella mulled over those words carefully. He thought he understood the boy's sentiments but he couldn't say he entirely sympathized with him. After all, if he could be believed, this "Jed Eckert" had no family left, no home to go to. Bella had both waiting for him. This boy had no one. "Surely you must have some purpose left in life if you were spared?"

Jed looked at him again, and suddenly understanding and realization flared in his gut. His guard fell away, and he suddenly looked very young. "It was you that night, wasn't it?" he asked softly. "It was you who spared my life when I was carrying Matt away."

Bella wasn't sure what he felt about the question—whether it was anger that the boy had figured that out, or trepidation of being called a hypocrite, or relief that he didn't have to pretend ignorance anymore. He settled on the relief. "Yes."

"Why?"

The simple word asked a lot.

Bella paused again, not quite understanding why he was explaining this to an enemy. Little did he know that when sparing Jed's life that night, he had created a bond between them, one that had changed their opinions about other people and of life itself. It was not a bond that would create an easy, trusting relationship in any sense; it was instead the simple knowledge that there was a debt between them. And the sparing of a single life can rock even the sturdiest of lives. It would be years before Bella came to realize this.

For the present, he merely told the truth the way he saw it. 'Because, Jed Eckert, that night I did not see the leader of the Wolverines. I did not see an enemy soldier who was a threat to me and my men. I saw instead saw a young man who was simply trying to get a fallen comrade out of danger. You showed love that night, a brother's love. And I couldn't raise my hand against that."

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Another week passed. Bella was busy reorganizing the chaotic city, just finishing the burial of the dead. Bratchenko's body had not been completely found, and Strelnikov's was being shipped back to Russia for an honored burial. Due to this, he spent very little time thinking about the young prisoner still held in the jail house.

Jed, for his part, had nothing to do except for lying there looking at the ceiling. After the talk with Colonel Bella, Jed spent his time reevaluating his opinions of the man. He had begun to eat again, more out having nothing else to do than actually being hungry. Daylight came and went, but he never saw it; the building had no windows, only overhead lights, but it did not matter if it was night or day: the memories still came. Nightmares accompanied sleep. Guilt hounded him during waking moments. The guards had long since stopped taunting him after finding he refused to rise to their bait; he simply laid on the shallow bunk in a restless stupor, wondering when something would give.

Finally he heard footsteps approach his cell door. Lethargy was settled on him heavily and he didn't bother looking over until he heard the door open.

Of course the boy was still in Bella's thoughts. When he was resting, his act of compassion hounded him until finally he could stand it no longer. This problem would have to be settled once and for all. After finishing his paperwork one blustery day, he left the offices and made his way over to the jail. In his belt he placed a loaded pistol. He made his way through the dark hallways and past the empty cells until he came to the one that housed the boy, who he saw was stretched out on the bunk. He looked over slowly when Bella opened the door.

"Get up," Bella snapped, and grabbed his forearm tightly when the boy was on his feet. He saw his charge did not look confused or even frightened in the least. Resigned, perhaps, but clearly untroubled by what was going to happen.

No words were spoken as they stepped outside. As it was a Saturday, the citizens of the town were all at home. Only a few witnessed the tall, black-haired Cuban colonel escorting a young brown-haired prisoner at gunpoint out to the city limits. The ones who did see this sight only shook their heads in sadness; they also knew what the boy's fate was going to be.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Colonel Bella stopped. They were now far beyond the outskirts of Calumet, with only the dry, frozen plains surrounding them. A wind picked up, ruffling Jed's unruly hair and rippling the sleeves of Bella's jacket. He released his hold on the boy's arm and stepped back, lifting the pistol up coldly.

"You knew this was going to happen sooner or later."

Jed nodded slowly. "I knew it. I only wondered why it hadn't happened yet."

"Then you understand that it won't happen today, either."

Jed blinked, then frowned in confusion, not understanding what the colonel was talking about. After a long moment, however, realization sank in. he couldn't help but grin at Bella's convincing performance.

"You're risking your life for me, Colonel?" He found that hard to believe, even for a communist who was maybe rethinking his position in the war. "You do realize how dangerous this is, don't you?" It was more than that, however; he may have had a couple of meaningful conversations with this man but that didn't mean he trusted him. Daryl Bates's fatal betrayal of the group was still fresh in his mind. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Bella didn't grin, but the look in his eyes softened. "You can't. You know that. The question is, can you trust _yourself_?"

There it was, that one word: 'trust'. Over the past few months Jed had had certainly placed his trust in a lot of things. Six people had ended up dead.

Bella watched Jed carefully; the question he had asked was troubling the boy greatly.

Finally Jed frowned again and shook his head. "Why are you doing this?"

"I would think it would be obvious, don't you? I am just as tired of this war as you are. I am resigning this day—I am going back to Cuba. I let you go now because I would like to believe I am perhaps not so heartless as I am thought to be. So I am giving you the chance to begin again. People in the town will believe you dead. My superiors will concede. Perhaps by letting you go, I hope to someday have taken the first step in healing the wounds of this war." He offered the pistol up. "Go to Free America. Find the friends you have there. Perhaps someday you will be able to forgive us for the hurts we have committed against you."

Those were the words that finally moved Jed from his motionless surprise, and he was able to uproot his feet from the ground. He accepted the pistol. "Thanks."

Bella knew the boy had not forgiven him or the other Communists for their acts against him, and perhaps he never would: scars like these took a whole lifetime to heal. But at least he could see now that humanity still existed.

And that realization changed everything.

"So I'm being exiled." Jed's voice was flat. It was not a question.

And finally a surprisingly bitterly ironic smile flitted across the Cuban's face. "I would think you would have realized it before now, Jed Eckert. In the eyes of the town of Calumet, you are dead, a victim of soviet cruelty. Just as your friends and family were."

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A/N: The scene in which Bella lets Jed go is the most breathtaking scene of the entire film, in my opinion, so much so that it still brings tears to my eyes. For years I struggled to put in words what I believe happened in that scene—what Bella says here about it is what I see: simply two downtrodden, world-weary men looking each other in the eyes and seeing not an inferior animal or an enemy, but simply someone who perhaps _understands_. Seriously, if you have never seen this movie, watch it for this one scene. That is one thing of the remake that I was severely disappointed in: that they did not have any kind of moment in it like Jed and Bella have in the original.


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